


Forged in sand

by Turmalina



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Anger, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bonding, Gen, Not James MacGyver Friendly, Slow burn friendship, army days, family will come later, sandbox
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27731515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turmalina/pseuds/Turmalina
Summary: When Jack was CIA, he arrested the bomb-maker James MacGyver for terrorism and murder. Years later, he ends up being  Overwatch in the Army of his EOD son.
Comments: 42
Kudos: 70





	1. Old enemies, new enemies

**Author's Note:**

> First multi-chapter fic. I know where is suppoused to end (kinda?), but not quite how. But, I love sandbox fics and the ones Jack meets Mac and we get all the friednship development.  
> Be warned! I may or may not have change some specifics - Mac's age, for the beginning - and more to come yet. Don't have any betas, volunteers are welcome. Also: not native speaker (sorry for any mistakes). 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Enjoy and give me feedback!
> 
> Tags will be update as the story go on.

(2003)

Jack Dalton wasn’t sure anymore if they were in Northern California or Oregon already. It was rainy - so distant from the hot and dry air of Texas it hurt - he felt miserably cold from toes to ears, even layers of clothes did nothing to ease the perpetual chilling that had settled on his skin.

It also could be because of that place - a special prison for the ones who the government wanted to forget they existed or put on a miserable destiny inside those glacial walls for eternity. Jack was there also for a single purpose: get information out of their newest acquisition, James MacGyver. 

The man had been in the most wanted’s list of almost every government agency and terrorist group, for different reasons. Being a bomb master, a ghost and a demon of his own, James MacGyver had taken out multiple teams send by CIA, FBI, Army and any others with his bombs - also the object of study of EODs for a long time, soldiers trying to figure it out his manners and tricks, solve this killing specie of Rubik's cube that caused so many losses for so much people. 

Being a ghost, James MacGyver was impossible to find. Even when a special team tried to hire him for a false bombing act, the man still had discovered their covers and never showed up, leaving just a gift for them - a single bomb that took out an entire building and killed fourteen civilians. 

Being a demon, James MacGyver also feared as a lone wolf on a winter’s night. His hunger was for violence and destruction, so, even when some government team managed to take down a terrorist cell, those captured men never spilled a single information about MacGyver. Their words were “When - and not if - he finds out, we’re gonna be all dead men, but not before he makes us his personal warning signs.”

Being a ghost and being a demon didn’t make James Macgyver less human and susceptible to human mistakes. And, at the first one he made, Jack Dalton caught him, right at his own house.

A year ago, while Jack’s team was working in Caracas, they suffered a bomb attack that left a man without a leg and two dead. As soon as they identified the bomber responsible, Jack made a vow for his fellow team members he would do everything in his power to get that monster behind bars forever or buried in a black site. 

Two days ago, the CIA received an anonymous call with the exact location of MacGyver - in a small town named Mission City. It was the most suspicious lead they had ever put their hands on, and nobody could figure it out who had called or from where. It could be a trap, but, being the only one they had in years, Jack’s team supervisor, the brilliant Matilda Webber, sent them straight away, in separate flights and civilian clothes, to lessen the chances MacGyver would recognize any of them. Jack went straight to the address - a nice house, with a small garden on the front and an old swing hanging from a tree. The agent stayed there for no longer than fifteen minutes, right until the moment a man exited the house, opened his car’s truck and took out so many packed wires and small devices Jack was sure he was looking at the bomber’s face in person for the first time. 

There was no mistaking now. Jack called back up from the two agents close to him and, as soon as they got there, all three entered the house and surrendered the bomber.

It was quite easy, and, for the entire flight until they got to the prison camp, the team had nerves firing and words on the edge. James MacGyver did nothing beyond sit in silence and watch them with a dead stare. 

For all Jack could say about the man, he didn’t dress as a bomber. In khakis pants and sweater, sand blond hair and grey eyes, he looked like a tired father of three instead of a bomb maker. His expression, though, reflected his very soul: dead with a penchant for dead things and desolation and hurting. MacGyver had his hands as surgical tolls: fine and steady, leaving no mistakes behind. 

Now, in the room with James cuffed to a table and his boss interrogating MacGyver, Jack Dalton could only feel cold beyond belief and an uneasy rage that burned inside out. The bomber hadn’t even tried to defend himself - assumed all attacks he caused with hints of pride in his voice. Pride. Taking lives and leaving only a path of destruction wasn’t anything a man would be proud about. 

“I did because I could,” the man said, mouth grinning and eyes dead. “You, agents, call yourselves so high, the bright star of protection, but, inside, you are scared and small as mices. You are afraid of the power you have. I have this power, and, as I could gain with it, I did it. To whoever paid me more.” 

Right in his core, Jack knew it was because that man had long ago become a demon. Not a single human trace had survived his decaying soul. 

After they finished the interrogation, Webber called everyone at the hall.

“Thank you for your service. You did a great job and made the world safer. The CIA’s going to continue this job with the Army and any other agencies that can make this man spill a bit. But you, my agents, you did good.”

“What is going to happen to his family?” asked one of them.

“We are going to keep one eye at them, but until the moment they seem to be oblivious to..”

She kept talking, but Jack’s mind was somewhere else. He approached the window of the room where MacGyver was being kept and watched the man. For a long moment, the man just kept staring at his cell walls, then paused and looked right at Jack, opening a smile that would have made sharks jealous. 

Jack turned away and left. 

For two weeks, that smile didn’t leave his mind.

* * *

  
  


(2011)

_ You know that EOD who’s mentor died, MacGyver?  _

_ Did you see the new EOD that we got? _

_ You mean, MacGyver? _

_ You know MacGyver, the one that got Pena killed? _

_ MacGyver. MacGyver. MacGyver. _

For years, it had been allowed to Jack Dalton not to think about that cursed name. To forget the horrors and fears and that year he spent chasing the man. Jack had gone home and tried everything to stay out of agencies and get a grip on a normal life at the ranch. It didn’t work out, so he decided to re-up with the Army again, working as EOD’s Overwatch. It had gone smooth and easy for almost five years, then it happened.

The ghost came back to life.

The one Jack made sure to be locked and forgotten for the rest of his existence. 

Came back to personally haunt Jack Dalton’s life.

It had begun right on saturday, with whispers and rumors Jack usually waved away - his job was keep soldiers safe, not keep up to write for a gossip magazine. It got harder on sunday, and by monday morning, Jack was called at the officer’s tent. 

“Sit down, Dalton.” Major Wilson told him as soon as he stepped in.

“What’s up, ma’am? Why is everyone so skittish today?” Jack rambled on, because, in fact, some officers around the base eyed him with caution and worry in his eyes as he passed by. The look Major Wilson gave him did nothing to ease the feeling. Usually, the woman was one of most hard-ass majors Jack had ever seen, but, today, she was also thrown off-balance. 

“Sit down, Dalton.” He did and waited.

“I called you here because you have been one of the most successful EOD’s Overwatch this Army has seen. Each soldier that worked with you got to go home, safe and sound. I had a new EOD transferred to this base, a high skilled one, brilliant, hard-working. Thanks to him, 126 of the 1000 IEDs were disarmed on that awful day. And he’ll be assigned to you.”

Jack didn’t get the point.

“Okay, that’s an impressive resume, he’s probably a bit over the head or maybe arrogant. I’ve worked with guys like these.” Major Wilson kept looking nervously at him. “What’s the matter?”

“His name’s Angus MacGyver.”

For a moment, Jack just stared at her, unable to make the connection. Then it clicked into place.

“Are you saying…”

“The same as the bomber James MacGyver, who you helped to catch. It’s his son.”

“Son.” The word tasted ash in Jack’s mouth. His mind raced. He got up, turned to the door and then back to Major Wilson, who had also stood up. “His  _ son _ is in the  _ Army _ and is an  _ EOD _ . Do you really believe he’s an  _ EOD _ ?”

“One of the most talented I have ever seen” she confirmed. “Dalton, I know what you're feeling now. It is hard to accept but…”

“Hard? That man killed thousands of people, soldiers and civilians, and  _ you accept his damn son in the Army? Are you out of your minds?” _

“Dalton!” Major Wilson barched. “You are not in place to question any decisions here. Believe or not, he didn’t grow up under his father’s shadow. As far as we can tell, he doesn't even know about what his father did. He’s being transferred because of the death of his mentor, Alfred Pena...”

“So he’s already had a death on his conscience, ahm?” Jack couldn’t believe it. After all, the Army was letting a devil’s pet get right into their heart? As an EOD? 

“It was not his fault.” She took a deep breath and sat back down. “As I said, he´s a good EOD, a wunderkind, and a good kid. I just wanted to tell you first so you wouldn't try to kill him on spot, Dalton.”

“Still might.”

“No.” Jack looked at her, trying to reign back his composure. Deep down, Major Wilson was just doing her job, hardest it was, but it had to be done. And it wasn’t her fault either. “Jack, you have only 60 days left on your tour. 60 days with him, and then you go home and he’s our problem. I know, Jack. I know I’m asking you a big thing. But, by now, he’s the best we got, and I need the best to keep him alive.”

Jack could only think about the men he lost for James’s bombs. All the destruction he had caused, and now they were asking him to look out for that man’s son. To take care of him, keep him alive while the kid fussed over with bombs. 

“Jack, he’s not his father.”

Major Wilson was just doing her job, however, it didn’t mean she - or any of them - was right.

“You” he said, slowly and plain, weighting every word and using them hard, “don’t know that.”

Her eyes hardened and her mouth turned into a thin line of barely controlled anger.

“You have your orders, Dalton. Dismissed.”

Jack left the tent with his heart galloping inside his chest and mouth dry. How, how would he protec the son of a man who had done so much damage to this world? How would he get home at the end of his tour and feel that he had done his job, leaving behind a snake in the bird’s nest? Baby snake, whatever. He would grow up, and how did they know Angus wouldn’t follow his father’s path?

Now, crossing the base, all Jack could hear was his name.  _ MacGyver _ . It was a curse, and had followed Jack right up there. The whispers became louder and louder until he got to his own tent, hoping he could decompress a bit before meeting this guy. The first thing he saw, besides all the other soldiers there, was a blond kid messing with… Jack’s rifle?

He didn’t even think once. All troubled emotions came right up and Jack yanked back the guy and started throwing punches. Before, it was just bottle anger, now it was aimed at this stupid guy, who dared to touch his gun without permission. The fight started and the soldiers began to cheer and yell in excitement. Jack didn’t even hear. For him, it was only the fight that mattered.

The guy fought back, and hard. Maybe a new soldier that didn’t want to be tossed over as weak and would try to gain respect by winning Jack over. Not a chance, not with Dalton. They punched, kicked and played hard and dirty; when Jack came to it, he was in a choke hold, trying to break the newbie’s arm. 

Officer Tomes chose that very moment to enter the tent. 

“On your feet.”

The soldiers got back up, backs straight, looking ahead.  _ Great _ , Jack thought.  _ I’m going to get rid of this stupid right now _ .

“Move, your idiots.” Both Jack and the soldier stood up. “What the hell is going on in here?” demanded Officer Tomes.

“Sir, I caught this one messing with my gear, sir.”

“Sir, I wasn’t messing with anything...” he started - and Jack didn’t let him finish, what the hell this newbie was thinking, that Jack Dalton neglected his own gear, that he didn’t know how to take care of his rifle?

“Shut up, both of you. If it were up to me, I would ship you both out. Become somebody else’s problem. But orders are orders. Sargent Jack Dalton, meet Specialist Angus MacGyver, your new EOD tech.”

Oh no.

“What?” Jack heard Angus whisper, making up a face. Nevertheless, he barely could breath,  _ MacGyver  _ still echoed inside his ears, it was real, it wasn't a nightmare, this devil's son was right there. 

Tomes had turned to the guy:

“Jack’s your new Overwatch.” Before any of them could open their mouths to protest, the officer finished: “And find a way to work together! Or I will find a way to get rid of you.”

Oh no. MacGyver or not, this little brat wouldn’t mess up with Jack’s final days of tour. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tomes left, as well as some soldiers. Dalton decided, in a brief moment, if he was working with him, he would play by his rules, and wouldn’t give any inch up. 

Looking now, he couldn’t see much more similarities between this kid - he looked so damn young to be even in the army - and James MacGyver. The one in front of Jack had lighter blond hair and baby blue eyes, was skinnier and slightly taller, almost Jack’s height. However, when Angus stared at Jack, he was almost thrown back by the expression - which looked so much like the father. 

The rage inside him roared again.

“Angus MacGyver, huh?” He spoke the name as if it was venom. “What kind of name is that? Sounds like a new burger at Carl’s Jr, don’t?”

He grinned as the soldiers laughed along. But Angus was also smiling.

“Pretty embarrassing that the guy named after a hamburger just pinned you in front of your buddies, huh?

Oh, the kid thought he could talk back.

“You didn’t pinned anybody. I was about to break your skinny little arm,  _ MacGyver _ . What people talk about you, you’re supposed to be some  _ wonder kid _ , huh.”

Angus had the nerve to smile as if he was an idiot. 

“I think you mean  _ wunderkind _ . And no,” the smile disappeared “I wouldn’t say that.” 

“Considering your training officer just died on your watch, I think I didn’t say that either.”

MacGyver’s eyes got darker and, even though his mouth was firmly closed, Dalton could almost hear his teeth gritting. Sore point, so. Before he could go on, Vincent Lance appeared at his side.

“Hey, Dalton. Heard you have a new EOD to watch out.” The man grinned mischievously at the younger soldier. “But take care, as far as I know, he doesn’t carry guns.”

“That’s news for me” Jack replied, throwing a look of disbelief at Angus, who was visibly irritated. “What kind of soldier doesn’t carry guns, huh? The one who wants to get himself and others killed?”

Angus opened his mouth - probably to defend himself, but Lance carried on.

“He’s a  _ pacifist, _ do you believe, Dalton? A pacifist in the Army.”

“I don’t need guns to disable bombs…” the kid tried.

“And this wonder boy here has a knack for improvising!” Dalton was grinning, because, even though he had to protect his enemy's puppy, he wasn't going to make friends with him. And Lance, a born and raised Texan just like him, tall as a horse and built as one, would help Jack to give this MacGyver hell. 

Just as Angus looked like he would explode, Shep approached them. Ethan O. Shepard was Jack’s long-time friend in the Army; a man with a big heart and an excellent soldier. He was, from time to time, a bit of Jack’s moral compass, being a little bit older, resolute and with an open mind as fews.

“Hey, MacGyver,” he greeted, putting himself between Angus and the other two. “You can call me Shep and this miserable one is Lance; don’t take him too seriously, okay?”

The younger one let out a tiny smile. “Nice to meet you. And thanks for the tip.” 

“Heard what happened with Pena. He was a good man, I’m sorry.”

For the first time, Jack watched a strange emotion cross the one’s face - a mixture of grief and sorrow which didn’t machted his young features - that was quickly replaced with a passive expression.

“Me too. And he was the best.”

Lance pulled up an eyebrow, but Jack kept the same incredulous impression over the new soldier. He was a bomber’s son, for the love of God. And, even though Lance and Shep didn’t have this piece of information, Jack would always keep an eye on the MacGyver - for his mates’ sake.

“Oh yeah, just don’t get me killed too.” Jack much as spitted, turning around to leave the tent. “The only cot available is the one in the corner; get your things there and get away from mine!”

MacGyver must have gotten angry with his last comment, because he didn’t even thought twice before shouting back:

“Keep your rifle in good shape and don’t get  _ me _ killed, Dalton.”

Jack didn’t reply, he was already out, thinking  _ “Only 64 days left… 64 days left… only 64… _ ”


	2. The first impression is the one that matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First time Jack and his new EOD tech go on rotation could have gone better, except Jack already has an opinion on MacGyver - and it is not a positive one.

(2011)

(63 days left)

Jack Dalton worked with so many EOD techs he didn’t remember the name of half of them. All of them were smarty-pants soldiers that followed Jack instructions and listened to his wisdom; shared their jokes and sweets and songs playing on the radio. They respected Jack’s taste for music, although not every one of them liked. In the beginning, all relationships started the same way: respect for the other, fresh connection because all soldiers are brothers-in-arms, until they fell in an easy and fire-foged bond, chained with trust and loyalty. 

It wouldn’t be this easy with MacGyver. After their first meeting, both Jack and the younger man prefered to stay away from each other, barely talking or looking while in the same space. It only lasted for their first day, right until a mission came up and Jack started the _Why MacGyver is such a smart-pain-in-the-ass_.

No. 1 - he didn't listen to Jack’s Instructions or wisdom.

It didn’t take much time to happen, actually. Their first rotation began, and right before they left the humvee, Jack made him wait before leaving for the job.

“What now?” MacGyver mumbled, looking annoyed.

“What now?” Seriously, is he working with a teenager? _So it be - he’s going to be treated like one_ . “I’m going to let things crystal clear here. First of all, I’m in charge here. If I think you are in danger and you have to move, you move. That’s my job and I take it seriously. Second, don’t wanna you improvising around here - this is not your lab to go tinkering and experimenting and whatever. This is your job as much is mine. Third - I choose the music, and you don’t get to complain. Fourth: you _will_ listen to me. I already got your reputation, and I say - It doesn't work with me. If you can’t obey orders, I send you back to training in no time, _capisce_?” 

MacGyver’s got a smile on his face, but not a happy one. He laughed at the windshield and then at Jack. 

“Let _me_ clear some things. First, I take my job _very seriously._ So, when I think it’s a threat to others, and I can take it, I’m gonna do it. Like it or not. Second, it may be improvising, but it has already saved more lives than I can count and I do whatever it takes to take a bomb down. Not gonna stop it because _you don’t like it_ .” Jack opened his mouth to protest, but didn't get any chance. “Third - you won’t get me back to training because _a_ \- I’m already a Specialist and _b_ \- we’re so down on EOD’s range that is more likely they send you home earlier than me.”

Without waiting for a response or for Jack, MacGyver opened his door and went outside. 

For all was worth it, this bomb nerd _sounded_ like his father. The arrogance, dripping from each word that came out from his mouth, had the same edge. The eyes, the same type of certain only someone with a handful of knowledge and experience could carry. Not in a positive perspective, obviously. Both men were dangerous - the father, for being a bomber, an assassin - the son, for being unpredictable. For now, this MacGyver outside the Humvee had, maybe, a 45% chance to be a good guy. However, with experience and a shitty background ( _check and check_ ), he could as easily follow his old man’s path. 

It was born from instinct and nightmares, the taste of blood in his mouth and every cup of coffee in early mornings, but it couldn't be stopped: the vision of a monster every single time Jack looked at Angus MacGyver. He blinked, and it was there. He looked over his shoulder, and it was there. He got out from his tent, and it was there. He walked over the guys playing _truco_ at the barracks at night, he got his daily meal, he went to sleep - it was always there. The shadow that knew Jack’s name, maybe his family, had known and had killed his friends and partners, now had a new body - younger, skinnier, but the same nonetheless. 

A light knock in his window startled Jack. The bomb nerd was getting apparently anxious waiting outside, in the morning heat, even though it was barely 8 a.m.. Without wasting any more time, Jack went out for what promised to be a long day of work.

* * *

(2003)

After they gathered James MacGyver and left him for Matilda Webber to interrogate, Jack was called back to Mission City, to get all information they could on the crime scene - a plain, ordinary house, identical to the others twelve at the street. 

While Sarah and Reese were occupied with the rooms upstairs, Jack got himself to take a look at the basement. In hindsight, it was written all over what it would look like - so many horror movies; so many movie villains with a nefarious lab under their house and roses in their gardens.Mices on glass boxes, bloodshot red eyes and squalid body. The sound of typical lab machines, bubbles coming from a set of experiment tubes - black or with liquid. Maybe one or two skeletons in their closet or nearest cabinet. 

James MacGyver’s lab wasn’t quite all this evil. It was silent. No mices, no bubbles, nor skeletons (until now). It was a clean and well lit space, white tables, one chair, a lot of cabinets with screwdrivers, pliers, parts of electric cables, three magnifying glass in different sizes, digital clocks, more cables and an infinity of others objects Jack would take a year to catalogue them all. It was neatly organized, not a single hair out of place. 

It didn’t show the true nature of his job, or the devices used to injure, to kill, build there. Could be a kid’s lab, learning to create things, could be a place where a family would keep their camping stuff or an old sofa where a neighbor’s cat could sleep. 

It shouldn't be a murder’s workplace. It shouldn't even _exist_.

Jack put all similar thoughts aside and worked on evidence with a CIA’s tech. Through the next two hours, they gathered what looked suspicious, or recently used or anything else it didn’t smell right. At first sight, the basement seemed so innocent both men almost lost their hopes on finding proof of illegal and shady activities. Turning over some drawers and carboarded boxes, evidence started coming up. 

Until...

“Hey, Dalton” called the tech from the other side of the room, frowning to an open cabinet. “You might wanna have your boss look at those.”

 _Those_ were metal boxes full of paper. The first boxes contained mostly notes from purchases and lists of materials; beneath it, boxes with studies and recipes for explosives. More and more notes of chemical substances, schemes of bombs as if they were plans of houses. 

Then, studies of places. Incidence of sunlight, time and timezones, demographic density of numerous cities, soil quality, schemes and photografies of buildings, squares, churches, schools. Jack’s stomach stopped at the sight of all the material - and he kept going. 

At the last box, phone numbers. Addresses from all around the world. Post-its with place, time and day written in a perfect hand-writing. Contacts, information, _names_ . Oh, Matty would _love it_. 

Both Jack and the tech carried everything to their van, taking six trips between the basement and their vehicle. Sarah was already outside, talking to an elderly man, who looked deeply curious about what happened and the ex-residents - probably a median neighbor hungry for gossip. Jack ignored him and turned to Reese.

“Did you and Sarah find anything?”

“Er, no. Nothing beyond what we already have.” 

“Don’t worry, hoss.” Jack grinned, although he didn’t feel victorious. “We got new material, enough to employ some lab tech and analysts for some years. It’s done. Come on, Sarah, we gotta get moving!”

When the team left town, Jack was beyond relieved. Job done; families could get some closure, he could get some vacation himself. 

No need to think about James MacGyver ever again. 

* * *

(2011)

Reason no. 2 _Why MacGyver is such a smart-pain-in-the-ass_ : he didn’t like Jack’s talks.

Ok, Jack had to admit: he wasted no time using his vocal cords for anything. Singing, reciting movie lines - sometimes a whole scene - joking, and talking. About anything he could get his mind to, to family tales, to weather, to gossip and to cowboys stories. Back at home, he was the favorite story teller; at night, Jack would gather all kids and, under candle lights and with thunders roaring outside through the night, and let his creativity delight his nephews and nieces. They could stay up for long hours, until Jack’s mother would come and _shoo_ everyone to their beds. 

At the field, talking meant to relieve tension, distract the angry ones and cheer up the sad ones. Also, to remind Jack he had a job to do, and could stop only when his bomb nerd was safe back at the tent - until then, he had to keep himself aware and focused. The talking happened to help on this topic. 

To be fair, not all the bomb nerds Jack worked with liked his tendency to _never shut up_. Most of them just listened and ignored, at first, to, in no time, started keeping up his ranting. Some went with it right at the beginning; a single bomb nerd asked to get a new overwatch who “used more of his brain than his mouth”. It hurt Jack a little bit, however, he didn’t back off.

MacGyver was more propense to fall in the last category.

As soon they go to their spots - Jack in a nearby empty building and the bomb nerd hovering a supposed IED -, all was needed was to hear a bird singing for Jack launch himself on a story where he and cousin Nic hunted down an raccoon through the ranch at midnight - on a Halloween night. 

He went for almost ten minutes before a not amused mumbling came from the radio.

“What was that, bomb nerd? I’m just getting to the most exciting part!” 

Jack always called the EODs tech by first or last name, but _Angus_ was beyond ridiculous and _MacGyver_ gave him a nauseous feeling of sublime terror. Until a better idea came up, he would keep “ _bomb nerd”_ or just _nerd_. It fitted, after all. 

“Are you going to stop talking?” the answer cracked back, half exasperated and half amused. “Like, at some point, this day?”

“Well, it bothers you, nerd?” _That would be a bonus._

“I presume you don’t have knowledge about what I’m doing here, Dalton, but it requires concentration and having you chatting on my ears doesn’t actually make it easier.”

Jack smiled, even though MacGyver couldn’t see him.

“That’s a shame! Because I have some many stories to tell you! Well, not tell you exactly, but you’re the only one around here to listen, so.. If you don't like this one, I have one about the time me and cousin Nick pulled up a prank on Christmas night - and, oh!, my pops was pissed as hell.”

“Bet you did” was the only response, only half there. 

“Of course! It was in the early 90’s, you probably didn’t exist by then, we planned for weeks to get all christmas lights to flicker when turned on - no one could guess what was wrong! When my pops finally caught us, even him couldn’t make it work the right way. And neither did Nick, for the matter. Mama laughed all night and made us buy new ones - for the whole house. We hadn’t even wrecked all of them, I think she used us as an excuse to get brand new lights - the ones we had were old as my gramps, and that’s something to say! Bet gramps was the one before us to put on those lights for the first time - I don’t know, maybe on his time they didn’t exist yet.”

“Actually” the voice came shyly through comms, and Jack frowned, listening carefully. “No longer after Thomas Edison created the lamp, two or three years after, one of his colleagues started putting some tiny lamps on a Christmas tree, so it was back 1880. So, probably they already existed when your gramps was a kid.”

A long silence hung between them. 

“Well.” Jack took a moment to get his thoughts in order - _how come this kid knows this kind of thing?_. “Thanks for the infodump, nerd.”

“You’re welcome. And I’m finished here.”

“Oh, thank God.” Jack answered, letting out a loud sigh, intentionally. “I thought you wouldn’t finish today.”

A great quantity of EODs took some time to get work done, and this MacGyver hadn’t really gone _so_ slowly, but Jack wasn’t one to let opportunities pass by without taking them - specially to annoy his new bomb nerd.

“Had to do my job right, Dalton.” MacGyver’s voice was clipped, clearly unhappy. “And took me way longer with you chatting non-stop.”

“Bad news for you, punk. That’s how _I_ work.” 

* * *

The day had been a total of 10 awful hours under the sun, watching MacGyver’s back and talking to himself. Or that’s how it felt, since the nerd “needed to concentrate” and chose to not answer to Jack’s ranting - for Jack, the bomb nerd was acting as a grumpy teenager, and he didn’t waste any words by putting it out. Of course, it didn’t help with MacGyver’s moodiness. 

When they reached the humvee, Jack caught himself missing his Shelby and the car’s radio. Classic rock was perfect on shows (and he had gone in only one his entire life), but it carried energy differently while playing on a car’s radio - speed and adrenaline, what made a better match if not old and good rock?

Also, his pop loved a good texan country song, but also sang with Jack whenever _Highwell to hell_ or _Sweet child o’ mine_ came up. He remembers performing some with both his sisters late at night in the very end of high school, and with friends on summer vacations. Music has been part of Jack Dalton’s life since he can remember - right now, it would make him, at least, smile.

They don’t have average radios on the humvee, only the ones connecting them to the base - for communication merely, not for distractions or fun. _Yes, sir, Dalton takes his job very seriously. Yes, sir, Dalton understands why they don’t have any kind of amenities on the humvee - isn't just a vehicle, but also a work too._ All rules applied for the base continue while inside the humvee.

But.

Imagine a radio.

“Come _on_ , Dalton.”

MacGyver’s voice startles Jack from his thoughts. The EOD was at his side, on the passenger’s seat, looking at him with a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. 

“You can start the humvee, you know,” he gestured to the panel of the vehicle, half acting as if Jack forgot how to drive and half being sarcastic. 

“Of course I can” huffed Jack, turning on the vehicle and starting on their way back to the base. “I was just… catching my breath.”

“Right.” The nerd laughed, rolling eyes, more sarcastic than humorous, taking sips from a water bottle. “Yeah, it must be, you didn’t stop talking for five minutes the whole day.”

If Jack wasn’t the one driving, he would certainly give this _kid_ a well placed slap on his head.

“Oh, this is because you haven’t heard me singing yet.”

“No need, thanks.”

“Of course I do! Or do you know any other way you can get to meet the classics of rock, the golden songs of all time? It’s a shame they were all released before you were born, though. You are what, form the Britney Spears generation?”

When silence was the only response he got, Jack took a look to his right and saw the jaw-clenched nerd, twisting something between fingers, eyes fixed on the horizon.

“Green Day?” Jack guessed, and a mischievous grin grew on his face. “Oh, wait, that’s 90’s…”

“Is this ever going to be a joke to you?” MacGyver snapped. 

“What the hell is wrong with you and jokes? Can’t you take them?” he fired back, but, for once in a long time, Jack had to shut up himself from saying more. Not because of the angry and snappy bomb nerd by his side, sounding and acting as a petulant teenager. 

No, for the rest of the ride back, a single image took over Jack Dalton’s mind: James MacGyver, cuffed to a metal table, casting over him a look of victory and disgust, saying ‘ _you don’t take your job seriously, mr. Dalton, or I would have a bullet hole between the eyes. No, this is some kind of joke, and you think you and your friends are the ones laughing about.’_

For the rest of the ride, Jack had the third item on his list _Why MacGyver is such a smart-pain-in-the-ass ._ He’s a MacGyver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedbacks are welcome!


	3. Bad or worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old memories about work techniques came across a delicate moment while Jack and MacGyver are at the field - nothing to ease the bad feeling Jack has over his EOD tech.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me so LONG, but it's done!
> 
> Hope you'll like it!

(55 days left)

Jack Dalton was proudly a morning person. Since living on a ranch came with obligations towards cattle, food and any other tasks to be done everyday before school, he created one of his most valuable habits for life: waking up early, even before sunrise. It had become one of those habits that grew so deep he didn’t know how to not do it. To be honest, it was a great thing at the Army - always prepared, never late - but as CIA and on his Delta days… to say it saved his life more than once was enough to paint the scenario Jack went through.

On some days - nostalgic, breath-taking mornings - Jack evoqued his childhood memories, where his momma would say young people should get up earlier so they wouldn’t age as the adults, who stayed up until late at night. It was a way to convince him and his sisters to go to bed at a reasonable hour, and get up on time for chores.

After Jack got back from the Army, and his momma wanted him to sleep a lot and rest from war days, he kissed her cheek and said: “Haven’t you said that I will always be your boy?”. She did smile and let him feed the cattle with the sunrise, as he had grown to. 

A lot of soldiers got the same habit over time - a very common scene at breakfast were newbies with their heads supported by hands, trying not to let them fall over the food. In the beginning was hard, but training and the CO kicking their bunks at the first light usually did the job.

MacGyver wasn’t a newbie. Not anymore, at least. 

Despite the ridiculous amount of time this guy had spent at the Army - roughly two years? - he had some habits that would make any veteran proud and certain the future of the country was in good hands. MacGyver would always be up when Jack awoke in the morning. Sometimes already up, sometimes with bunk made. 

That was one of the days he was already at breakfast. 

When Jack got to the dinner hall, the nerd was seated in a table with another five soldiers, listening to one of them that was telling some highly spirited story.  _ Probably all newbies, so naives!, _ Jack mourned, getting his portion of food (or that gruesome ration the dared to call  _ food _ ). 

Following his instinct, Jack decided to join them, only to watch his EOD interact with other people. Approaching them, he got the last bit of it, with the teller making some scenic gestures and the rest of the group laughing. 

“Morning, folks” Jack greeted them, taking the last seat available, right in front of MacGyver. The young man’s laugh decreased to the point he only nodded to Jack in response and got back to eating. 

The soldiers continued to share what Jack noticed that were childhood memories - getting a piece of cake from their cousin’s birthday before it was even out of the fridge, hiding a stray dog at home and skipping class at high school to go to the premiere of  _ Fight Club _ . While Jack’s love for talking was a habit of his known to all, his purpose there was plainly to observe, so he chose to participate as little as possible. 

The nerd wasn’t as talkative as his companions, however he did contribute, making comments and pointing out some details to get to know even more. MacGyver had a quick mind, Jack had to admit, and some quick fingers as well - while they stayed there, his hands didn’t stop for more than 30 seconds straight. Messing with the knife, water bottle, his own sleeves and hair (Jack would get him a proper haircut in no time, for sure) almost non-stop. 

And it went on during their breakfast. By the very end, the men were collecting their share of broken bones. 

“Come on, Dalton” pleaded one of them, Private Jenkins, maybe. “You probably have some good ones, I bet.”

“You bet right, my boy” Jack grinned, taking his place at entertaining those young men around him as they walked out of the hall. “Six years old, I kicked a horse stall and broke my first toe. Seven years old, ran too fast out of my house and forgot about the steps - three broken fingers. At nine, I broke my second toe kicking a football goal post at the very end of the game. Ten, fell from a horse and there goes my right arm. Eleven, the same, except it was my left hand. Twelve…”

“You gave your momma a break” interjected MacGyver, grinning and eliciting laughs from the others. Jack shot him a dead stare, but the arrogant kid just shrugged. Fine.

“At twelve years old, broke two other fingers pulling a prank with my cousin Nick. And yeah,  _ slick _ , when I was thirteen, I gave my momma a break.”

“And you, MacGyver?” asked Jenkins.

“Oh, man. I was… nine years old, fell from a tree in a bet, broke my right arm. Bone sticking out and everything.” He grinned, making up a face.

“I hope it is in place now, huh.” It was Shepard joining them, gear ready for the day. “I’m gonna ride with you guys today. They want us at Samarkhel to do some patrols. Maybe bad news. Other two teams will be there too.”

‘Maybe bad news’ and three sets of soldiers at the field meant the high command was expecting a building to explode in plain sight as soon they got there. 

In ten minutes, Jack already got their route with their CO and was ready to start the day. He got to the humvee with Shep riding shotgun and MacGyver inspecting his own gear at the backseat. 

“Hey, slick, did you forget anything?” called Jack, waving a hand in front of the nerd’s eyes and startling him.

“Don’t call me slick. And no, I got everything I need.”

“Hope this includes a handgun, at least.”

“Nope.”

Jack huffed and started the humvee.

* * *

  
  


What was the promise of a very long day turned into one of the longest and hottest days Jack had ever had the displeasure of experience. 

Sky was cloudless, the sun shining high and bright, temperatures over the roof and beyond. Samarkhel wasn't a big city, so most of the constructions were one or two store buildings who offered almost zero to zero shelter they could use to hide from the intense sunlight. By the mid of the day, when Jack got MacGyver back to the humvee for a MRE, they were down four water bottles and half of a sunscreen bottle. 

Both Jack and Shep had sunglasses. It helped when it came to take over their surroundings, easing the bright light that castigates their eyes and easing their job to keep eyes very open. 

MacGyver didn't have such luxury. From all mandatory EOD tech's gear and protection suits, what the guy could avoid carrying, the better. So, even with those baby blue eyes, he didn't have any protection against the sunlight. Not to speak of the heat. Jack got the "privilege" of taking a position to watch in empty buildings, getting, if not a fresh place, at least it was out of the sun. The nerd, however, was under the massive heat spreading outside.

One thing Jack couldn't say about his EOD was that the nerd was whiny. Even under extreme circumstances and a delicate and dangerous work, it was hard to hear from him a word of complaint. Usually he kept himself silent or just answered Jack's infinity rant over anything. And, of course, when he did, the nerd would complain about Jack. (To be fair, he was hard as steel to the guy.)

Over work or even the weather, MacGyver sometimes would alert both men on the watch over a new found IED or some place he would enter, letting Jack and Shep lead the whole conversation. When they reached the Christmas topic, Jack didn't even hear his breath over comms and asked three times for a signal of life from the nerd, who responded with “I’m here” and “Let me work, Dalton”.

When the sun was setting in the horizon, MacGyver had disarmed or contained or got rid of 12 IEDs along the way, most of it found in the last four hours. As far Jack could tell, they were getting in a dangerous part of the city, so both him and Shepard, putting aside tiredness and hunger, were full attention to their surroundings, double-checking every window, door, alley and shadow passing over near the bomb nerd within a radius of 20 meters.

The EOD tech was slowly making his way down the street, while Jack was positioned as far as he could, getting the bigger view and Shepard was at the humvee at the street corner, keeping watch over them both. 

In a heartbeat, just after the last house still standing, MacGyver crouched suddenly, his red Swiss Army Knife already in hands.

“Guys, I got something.”

“Oh, sweet” Jack sang, adjusting his posture to take his weight from left to right leg. His body wasn’t young anymore, and all this time standing would give him a backache very soon. “Finish it and we can call it a day. I don’t wanna be here without sunlight.”

“Didn’t think you were afraid of the dark, Jackie” Shep chuckled form the humvee, his voice distorted from the radio.

“Well, if you want to hang around here in the dark with our dignified EOD tech, be my guest, Shepard. I want to live.”

“We all want to live, right, MacGyver?”

Silence. Then:

“Mhm.”

“You good there, slick?” Jack asked, because he had to know if something was about to go south quickly or, more likely, yesterday. 

“Kinda” came the muffled answer.

“Care to elaborate?”

"M hum."

Taking MacGyver’s previous behaviour, he was as nonchalant as ever has been since the very first day. However, when it came to IED and work in general, the guy could talk, not as much as Jack, but enough to let him know what exactly they were facing. Now, this almost one-sided, distracted and only word per answer were not habitual. Which could mean serious problems.

“I’m gonna need more information than that.”

“Ah, okay.” From the scope, Jack watched as MacGyver lowered one knee at the dirt, pushing a hand over his eyes to clear sweat and dust from his face, just for two seconds before returning his attention to the bomb.. “It's, hum, a middle-size deal.l. Not motion activated, or we all would be dead by now, and does not have a remote detonator, which is good news, but is messy - who made this clearly wanted to difficult my job -, and there’s a clock attached to it.”

“Time?” Shep requested.

“Five minutes and fourty-fi… fourty-four seconds.”

It was too close for Jack’s liking. 

"Can you disarm it?" Asked Shepard, leaning forward as if it made it easier to hear the reply. 

"Yeah, no problem" MacGyver's voice cracked over the comms, "just gonna get foil wrapper and this cherry gum so I…"

A cold shiver ran through Jack's spine as a fillet of water.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, cowboy, don't even get this started."

_ The specialist had shown Jack and the rest of his CIA tem the skeleton of one of James MacGyver’s bombs, gattered after one attempt gone wrong. It was clean and well elaborated, but it had random parts that didn’t seem to belong there, failsafe traps linking parts with paperclips, really small batteries that would recharge the bomb even after been disarmed, thin wire all over the place, held in place by toothpicks and fillets of duct tape. A myriad of all kinds of objects and tools - usually found sitting in desks or kitchens - were there, deadly arranged inside a simple-looking box. _

One “improviser” was enough. Jack Dalton wouldn’t take two in his life.

"Dalton" said MacGyver, voice impossibly calm. "If you don't trust me, I can't do my job."

Silence reigned over them.

"Come on, Jack…" Shep tried, but he was taking none of that.

"No, don't you do this improvising around here, capisce? I wanna get home alive, in one piece and without any other limbs missing.”  _ I know what you can do, MacGyver, I don’t wanna get killed. _ “I know guys who tried this and failed miserably…"

"Dalton, I  _ know _ what I'm doing!"

"I said no!"

“Okay, we do  _ not _ have time for this.”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

"Did it."

For once, Jack thought he heard wrong. That this little piece of shit hadn't really gone against Jack's decision for real.

He was at a loss for words. 

The three men stayed in silence while MacGyver finished the disposable. Back at the humvee, Jack riding shotgun again and MacGyver right behind him, no one said a word. Jack was boiling with rage, and if he opened his mouth right away, it wouldn’t end well. Not that he cared about the little brat, but, as far as he was aware of, the high command wouldn’t give him another EOD tech to look after. Apparently, Jack Dalton’s destiny was to die for an arrogant and impulsive young man - or wait to get killed by. 

* * *

It was night for quite some time when the trio finally parked over at the base. As soon as they were out of the vehicle, Jack grabbed the nerd’s arm, yanking him to a stop. 

The younger man tried to suppress a flinch, obviously caught by surprise, and tried to take a step back. With his mind still clouded by anger, Jack just tightened his grip. 

“You listen here. Do  _ not _ pull a stunt at me like this ever  _ again _ . Or will end up really bad for you.”

It had been a while since the last time Jack threatened someone, not to mention the spite he had put in the words. In past times, he had made some big ass criminals cry; the EOD tech, however, just pulled his arm back and stood high, eye to eye with Jack.

“I won’t stop doing my job.”

With these words, he stormed back to the barracks. 

At the end, Jack didn’t have any more energy to hunt the nerd and spank him as he much would like to do. Instead, he took a cold shower and all food he managed to calm down his fried nerves. After dinner, he was leaving for his bunk and get some shut-eye when he was called. 

“Jack, stop right there.”

Jack huffed and turned around to face an almost-angry Shep coming towards him, one with shoulders and hands tense, mouth in a thin withe line. For a long time, he hadn’t seen his friend so pissed off (including that time where Jack made a bet and ended up passed out drunk in the middle of the day - long time ago). 

“What’s you with MacGyver, huh?” Shepard demanded, staring straight into Jack’s eyes. 

“You know what, Shep? I’m in no mood for this talk; this day was terrible and I’m hungry for a shower.” And it was all true, and served perfectly as an excuse to avoid the subject Jack came to hate the most,  _ MacGyver _ . Getting to work directly with the bomb nerd for at minimum 10 hours a day was enough, getting to share their tent with him was already over the top. Letting him play around as if the desert was actually a children’s sandbox or science fair or talking to or about him at any other time of the day? 

Particularly impossible. 

He moved to leave for his tent. Shep, however, who was apparently in a  _ Sherlock Holmes _ mood and wanted to get to the bottom of the issue, grabbed Jack’s arm, stopping him. 

“No, you don’t get to go without giving me some explanations.” Shepard took a deep breath. “I know you got something with this kid, I wanna know why.”

Jack remained silent, staring ahead. How could he explain? 

“Come on, Dalton. I get you get issues with some new guys, especially with young ones such as MacGyver, but he’s good! I have only heard stories about him, about what he can do - and is good stuff. You get to give him some credit.”

“ Well, we just  _ saw _ what he can do. I know he’s capable, or he wouldn't have made it so far.” Jack replied, exasperated. “I heard the stories too, it seems he can  _ magically _ solve any problems.”

Shep gave him an amused smile.

“That’s what has been bothering you? The way he improvises his work? Mate, I’ve seen things some EOD did, some with even less knowledge he has, it’s crazy, I admit, but their work depends on this. You have to trust him.”

“I can’t.” he blurts out. Jack, as usual, can’t stop the words coming out. 

Both men stop for a moment, Jack trying to decide on sharing the truth or not and Shep measuring the confession laid out. 

“Okay” he said, using a moderate tone it would get a psychotherapist jealous. “Let's start from here. Why can’t you trust him, mate?”

All the people had left the dining hall by then; there was no one around to hear anything. Not that Jack cares about MacGyver, but if this kind of information got around, Major Wilson would have Jack's head on a silver plate for dinner and his carreer on the nearest trash can. For some reason, she seemed attached to the kid, more than the usual amount of interest she displayed for soldiers.

"I've known his father."

"Well, that's some news. Bad person, so?"

Shep wolund't let go so easily, so Jack came closer and whispered:

"His name's James MacGyver. I arrested him on a manhunt for terrorism and murder. He was a bomber."

A strange silence hanged between them again.

"When was that?"

“Something like… ten years ago.”

Shep’s eyebrows went so high they could have reached his hairline.

“Ten  _ years _ ? Oh, god! Okay, okay. And do you think little Mac here is gonna follow his father’s steps?”

“Don’t you?” pressed Jack. 

For the first time, Jack felt Shepard judging him. No, not judging, but assessing his words, his body language. The man took a step back and stared at the other for quite some time, a deep frown on his face. They were under some sparse light bulbs hanging over their heads, so the shadows made his face awfully darker. Shep opened his mouth three times before asking:

“ _ Why _ do you think so, Jack?”

What a question! Wasn’t his father reason enough?

“Well, first, his father. Second, he’s in the Army working with  _ bombs _ . Do you need more than this? Because I got more guys that gave to the dark side with less motivation than this guy does.”

“Ok, Dalton, take a deep breath, I’m gonna talk here now, okay? For starters, he’s  _ disarming _ bombs, not creating them. And ten years ago? He was only a child! Bet he doesn’t even know what his father did.”

“I don’t know this” Jack admitted, yet not fully convinced. Both men slowly walked to their tent, where some men were already getting into bed to rest or around a table to play cards. In a glimpse, he spotted MacGyver in his cot, tinkering with some equipment, a red SAK in hands - the nerd seemed so concentrated that even all the noise around didn’t bother him. 

For a brief moment, a sense of wrongness crossed Jack’s heart. Was he evaluating this bomb nerd by a father he hadn’t seen in nearly a decade? Was MacGyver a good guy instead of a viper in a bird’s nest?

Then, sensing he was being watched, MacGyver’s head came up and he looked straight to Jack, a slightly disconcerted expression on his face that was quickly dismissed and changed to another serious, smart one. One that was hell similar on another face Jack had seen years ago, right before he closed the door of an interrogation room. 

All hesitation was gone; the rage was once again boiling Jack’s blood. He turned to Shep with a finger up. 

“It can be a possibility, man. But I don’t trust that face on any other day - I’ve seen some horrible things coming from a MacGyver, and I won’t be fooled because  _ he’s a damn kid _ .”


End file.
